Whoever writes these lines was moved when he heard two weeks ago on RAC1 – in the program Via Lliure, by of August. That day, one of his sons (Oriol, 26 years old) lost his life when they were both making a trek through the Picos de Europa. The young man rushed into the void. In the attempt to help him, Torralba was suspended from the base of a tree while he descended the cliff. There, without knowing if Oriol was still alive dozens of meters below, he had to wait more than an hour until a helicopter rescued him. Philosopher, theologian and author of countless books, it so happens that in 2020 he published one (Words of Consolation) that dealt with the loss of a loved one.
To start, I would like to know how you are. I understand that you have gone through many phases since the accident: anger, denial…
I have not experienced the first phase of the grieving process, that of anger. Yes, I was shocked by what happened, but I did not have an attack of anger against the world or against God. I have the feeling that I have accepted it, although there are times when very big waves of sadness and a lot of crying come. In any case, I don’t think that the last phase of the process is acceptance.
What is it then?
Gratitude. I feel lucky to have had him, known him, to have been able to educate him and experience so many things with him. I think I’m in this phase now. I have accepted what happened, even though I obviously didn’t want it to happen.
The accident occurred during a mountain crossing that was initially not dangerous.
No, it was not. It was a 30 kilometer circular journey, the star excursion of the summer. Oriol was the one who planned it. It ran along small, narrow paths, and although there were unevenness, the route was not risky. The problem was that we missed getting back to Cain. Also, the GPS didn’t work, there was no coverage. In that moment of uncertainty, he became distressed. He felt responsible. We began to look for the right path with erratic movements: up, down… At one point, he turned around a small curve, which presented no apparent risk, and that’s when I heard a very loud bang. At our feet, below, was the Cares River.
And you approached that curve.
Exact. And I didn’t see it anymore. I started looking for him everywhere, and I sensed that he had rushed. I began to descend the slope with the idea of ??seeing what state he was in, but there came a point where the wall was very vertical and I could not continue the descent. I couldn’t continue down or go back. I stayed suspended at the base of a tree.
And did you have to wait a long time there?
More than one hour. All that time I feared the worst. I was calling him by his name several times, but I got no response.
And how were you able to maintain your composure in that situation?
Analyzing it now, I too am surprised. I became aware that I had to wait for the emergency services to come, who have the tools and skills to act in those situations. I started screaming, asking for help. From my position, I could see the Cares route, very busy in summer, in the distance. Two people listened to me. One of them went to town to look for help, and there was no coverage there. The other one stayed and tried to talk to me, to get me to think about something else. I wanted to comfort myself. To understand each other, we had to shout because of the distance that separated us. After just over an hour a helicopter arrived.
And they rescued you first.
Yes, with the help of a cable. They took me to Caín, where we had started the route. Then they went after Oriol. They had to use a second helicopter, with a longer cable. The first device could not descend to where my son was: there was a risk that the propeller would touch the walls. Meanwhile, I waited very anxiously on Cain. Finally, the helicopter arrived and I saw that it was carrying a bag, located on the right side of the device. They didn’t have to tell me he was dead. Then I had to call the family, before taking the road back home to Morgovejo, a town where we spent the summer and which is more than an hour from Caín.
And he made the journey back alone.
Yes, the Civil Guard offered to accompany me, but I felt capable of doing it alone. I remember the call I had to make to my wife, one of those calls that were so difficult to make. I spend a lot of time talking about a concept called the bearable truth to avoid the white lie, but to tell that truth you have to verbalize it in a way that the other can digest it emotionally. But of course, there are truths that are very difficult to say, but I had to do it.
Have you ever had to deal with any type of feeling of guilt?
No. Fortunately, neither I nor anyone in my family has felt that way. I am also not invaded by hypothetical language: “If we had not gone, if instead we had done something else…”. The decision to take the excursion was yours. Actually, I accompanied him. He was very excited.
Does your mind often take you back to that day?
Yes. There is not a day that I do not remember him at one time or another. That help? Keep your mind busy. In my case, with classes, conferences, books, conferences, a tutorial with a student… The difficult thing is the breaks. At that moment is when his presence bursts in with great force. He passes me driving from one place to another, for example. And listening to music, especially the one we listened to together going and returning from the excursions we took. In those moments you fall apart.
But one cannot always be busy.
It’s true. Furthermore, I believe that grief should be intermittent. That is, you cannot escape permanently because it is not the way to make a scar. But you can’t be confrontational all the time either. You have to alternate. That is, allowing yourself to escape, going to the cinema or the theater and not feeling guilty about it and, at the same time, allowing a wave of sadness to arrive on certain occasions and you can let off steam.
Because you can’t overcome something like that.
I talk about acceptance, not overcoming. I think this last word is not the most appropriate. Accept or assume are the verbs that I think are most appropriate. And each person has their own rhythm. The death of someone close creates chaos, and restoring order takes time. I compare it to a vase that breaks. You have a thousand pieces on the floor, and piece by piece you will have to rebuild it, which takes time. For one person it will be half a year, for another maybe two. The waves of sadness will continue to come, but not with the same height and volume of water.
You are a religious person. Does faith, in these cases, help?
A lot. But when someone experiences something like this, everything is shaken: the system of values, beliefs… There are those who stop believing, and it is very logical. He thinks: “God has failed me.” He even experiences anger. I have not experienced all this. There is another possible reaction that tests what image of God you have. The image of him pulling your chestnuts out of the fire or acting as a cleaner, plugging holes, hits you hard. And there you have two options: think that God is not that and does not exist, or that he is a mystery that surpasses us, that we cannot conceive or put inside a conceptual box. I don’t stop believing in him, but I don’t understand him. Through prayer, I have asked for strength to take it on.
It helps you to pray.
Yes, but what do you ask for in prayer when the event has already occurred? Have inner strength to be able to assume it, maintain serenity and rebuild life. Faith also helps to think about a final reunion. I believe in it, and it gives me hope. What we call heaven, which we simplify as a place, I imagine as a state of infinite plenitude. During our lives there are moments where we feel it and want to stop time: about music, a landscape, a love relationship or being with your child after a very great physical effort, having lunch together, sweaty and laughing a lot. I think he lived a very powerful moment that last day, and so did I. What he didn’t know was that that would be his last moment.
What else helps you get ahead?
The writing, which is very liberating. I don’t write to publish, although if I see over time that what I write can be helpful to other people, maybe I’ll consider it. I write for myself, it’s very therapeutic. I explain everything I feel. In an experience of this type, which I don’t want anyone to have to live through, there are learnings too.
Which is it?
For starters, you become more magnanimous. You don’t argue over trifles. You relativize much more. You also become more sensitive to the pain of others. I got out of there thanks to others, to the people who helped me. And lastly, it makes you much more humble. You realize that we are very little, ephemeral. You value the present much more, and you become more selective with your time: you think more about who to meet and who not to meet; where to go and where not to… You become much stricter in the use of your time. You knew it was a rare commodity, but you didn’t know to what extent.
